Quick Change
by Midnight Caller
Summary: Quickie one-shot insert for 3x14: "Lucky Stiff" (before Castle & Beckett arrive at Castle's loft, prior to going to the club).


**A/N: I started this nearly two years ago and then kind of forgot about it/couldn't finish at the time. I realize it's pretty brief, but it's just a quick little insert into "Lucky Stiff" that I always sort of wondered about. Hope you like it.**

* * *

"_I think we're going to need your Ferrari."_

* * *

Castle couldn't stop the grin from forming, his mind jumping to predictably ludicrous ideas as he wondered what she could have in mind. Pure joy flooded his veins as he saw himself thundering down Broadway in his fiery red machine, rear wheels straining for traction on the asphalt, Beckett beside him in the passenger seat, her hair flying in the wind, hearts racing as he gunned the engine, her mouth opening to reveal the tip of her tongue as she—

"Castle, you coming?"

Kate had almost made it to the elevator by the time she realized Castle was still in the hallway, doing his best Cheshire Cat for Esposito.

Waking himself from his daydream, he strode toward her, sliding on the tile floor as he raced to push the down button before she could. Kate regarded him with her usual eye of judgment, but he looked so damned happy, she let it go.

* * *

He'd been to her apartment before, but when she'd said she needed to change into more appropriate clothes (_"Thanks, Castle, but I don't need your help") _and had reluctantly left him alone (_"Don't touch anything"), _he felt compelled to take in as much as he could. Her belongings may have just appeared on the surface to be books and art and knick-knacks, but to him, they were more layers he could peel back, more secrets he could know about her, more pieces he could chip away from her wall.

He saw the aged spine of a rather thick book and couldn't resist seeing what it was. An early edition Hemingway or Steinbeck, perhaps, he wondered as he fingered the book off the shelf and into his hands. Carefully cracking open the cover revealed a yellowed title page written entirely in Cyrillic. He smiled to himself; even her books were hard to figure out.

"You don't listen very well, do you?"

He snapped the book closed at the sound of her voice, spinning on the balls of his feet to face her and present a brilliant impromptu excuse, but whatever he'd planned to say was forgotten in an instant when he saw her.

The dark blue dress clung to her form like a second skin, its subtle seams running at just the right places along her hips and bosom. The neckline and what it revealed was a study in the sublime, and the dress's hemline presented her defined, endless legs so gloriously, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to drag his eyes away from her body. And why would he ever want to? He'd tasted her mouth; now he wanted everything else.

"It's War and Peace, if you're wondering."

Her voice broke his reverie, and he blinked as he tried to focus on what she was saying, but her damn outfit was complicating this simple task.

"Right, right. War and…Tolstoy."

The words spilled dumbly from his mouth, because now she was closer and _oh god_ he could _smell_ her. The scent was nothing overpowering, just clean and a bit spicy and so exquisitely Beckett. Suddenly, she was at his side, steadying a warm hand on his shoulder as she stepped into her sinfully high pumps, gifting him with not only a perfect view down the front of her dress, but a whiff of her shampoo as well. _Bliss_.

She straightened and tossed her hair, another waft of Beckett drifting delightfully into his senses, and then she took the book from his hands to replace it on the shelf. His eyes followed as she moved across the apartment until he suddenly remembered to move his feet and go with her.

"I keep forgetting you know Russian," he said.

She hummed in reply as she slipped on her coat, a black, shiny-type number that covered her from the thigh up but still left her legs visible. The thought of going to a club with her on his arm sent a warm flush through his entire body, and he suddenly felt exceptionally possessive.

"That is so hot," he said, his voice low, honestly not sure if he was referring to his partner's dress or her gift for language. Forgetting that his eyes were still glued to her body, when they finally reached her face, he was met with a one of Kate's signature looks of annoyance.

He stood up straight, self-corrected his leer, but still kept eye contact with her. "You know, Beckett, if you don't want me to stare, then maybe…" He stopped himself, swallowing the words.

"Maybe _what_?"

He cleared his throat, steeling his nerves. "Maybe… don't… wear… _that_." His hands waved up and down in her general direction, and she watched him, amused, annoyed, and maybe a little aroused, if the blush coloring her cheeks spoke any truth.

He punctuated his request with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, finally turning away from her to open the front door. As she brushed past him into the hallway, he swore he could see a smirk on her face.

"Good to know, Castle."

* * *

_**fin.**_


End file.
